He was smiling to himself in a tender, unconscious way, when he came to a bamboo gate, which served as entrance through the hedge of boxwood which divided the portion of the gardens in which he was from those Junzo knew were always reserved for the royal ladies of the family. Now he knew also that Komatzu was an orphan without sisters, and that his cousin Sado-ko was the only lady who ever occupied this portion of the palace.
Pausing before the gate, Junzo thought that as a boy he would not have hesitated to push it open and penetrate into the forbidden territory beyond. He would like now to take a peep into this garden of Sado-ko. If he should chance to meet her, might he not crave mercy in the name of that game they had played as children together in the gardens of the palace Aoyama? She might be gracious still. So far it had not been his fortune to see her in the palace Komatzu, for she was seldom in the public places of the palace. He had an insatiable curiosity to see how she had changed since childhood.
So he stepped across into the private gardens, making his way toward the bamboo grove, through which he passed on toward the little river which he could see in a valley beyond, twisting and babbling like a brook. But when he came to the other end of the grove he perceived that the garden was unlike those of the palace Aoyama, which was softly enclosed on all sides with trees and bushes. Here the walks were sanded and the landscape scenery was in miniature. There were flower beds and clumps of bamboo. Stately white jars containing rare ferns were placed at intervals in the centre of the rounded lawns, while the walks were lined with pretty sea-shells and white pebbles.
Junzo soon realized that this was not a garden in which he could remain for long unobserved. He was about to retrace his steps when he perceived coming toward him along the path a young girl, whose arms were so full of blossoms that her face was partially hidden. As it was too late for him now to retreat, he stood where he was, respectfully waiting for her to approach.
She hastened up the path toward him, and as she appeared to be absorbed in her own meditations and had not so far glanced in his direction, Junzo stepped backward toward the grove, hoping she would pass by without seeing him. This she doubtless would have done had not the young man, as she came opposite, made an odd exclamation, and then stepped before her path. What he said was:—
“Masago!”
She raised a startled face to his and stood perfectly still before him in the path, the blossoms slowly dropping from her arms. That strange expression of mingled fear and amazement awoke chaotic memories in the mind of Junzo. It was Masago who stood before him, he felt sure; but some one other than Masago had once looked up into his face in the same startled fashion. It must have been a dream or fancy. He repeated her name:—
“Masago!” And then, “What do you here?”
“Who are you?” she asked in a low voice, her eyes travelling over his face. “What is your honorable name, and where do you come from?”
The very words had a ring of familiarity to the ears of Junzo. He felt like one in a dream, and answered almost mechanically:—